He continued to talk, moving like a steamroller back and forth behind his desk. "After I showed Peter what I had done to Daniel, I thought he'd cause less trouble. I already had the abortion doctors lined up for later today, and we could have covered the Queen's visit as a routine medical exam-"

Growing more and more disturbed, Sarein had trouble following everything. "What did you do to Prince Daniel?"

"Somehow the story got loose among the media this morning! After laying out my threat, I kept Peter under close surveillance. He had no outside contact. None! So where did this rumor come from?" Basil's shoulders were hunched. "And now I have to find some way to respond. Peter cannot cannot be allowed to defy me like this, but now I can't make an obvious move against the King and Queen. Daniel is a complete failure, and Peter is out of control. This is another disaster." be allowed to defy me like this, but now I can't make an obvious move against the King and Queen. Daniel is a complete failure, and Peter is out of control. This is another disaster."

Looking at Basil, Sarein felt him becoming a stranger, someone she could no longer understand or sympathize with. She experienced a twinge of dread for her sister, unable to believe that Basil would just snap his fingers and force Estarra to terminate a pregnancy against her wishes. This wasn't the Basil Wenceslas for whom she cared so much. And though she felt a closer political alliance to him than to Theroc, Estarra was her family!

Perhaps she could talk him through this knot of bad decisions. Whether he realized it or not, Basil obviously needed the support of someone who cared about him. Sarein tried to rub his shoulders again. "I just got back home, Basil. If you give me an hour, I could arrange for a relaxing lunch in my quarters. It would do you good to take a break so you can see the solutions more clearly. Surely we can figure out a way to make this pregnancy into a politically advantageous situation."

He gave her a dismissive wave, gesturing for her to get out of the office. "I have work to do and plans to make. I need to show King Peter exactly where he stands before he tries something else."

Chapter 118-CELLI.

The first new groups of green priests had taken their treelings across the Spiral Arm, and additional bastions of the worldforest were being planted on diverse worlds to preserve them from the hydrogues. Green priests had been doing the same thing for more than a century, but never in such substantial numbers.

Over the past three days, Celli had spent an exhausting and exhilarating time with Solimar, treedancing and jump-starting the release of deep energy from the verdani. Not only was it much more fun than clearing deadwood, she could feel their own energy swell as they set loose the locked-away reserves inside the worldtrees. It was like throwing cold water into the face of a sleeping giant. Even Solimar was still amazed by the life they squeezed out of the damaged forest. After so many months, Theroc seemed to be getting to its feet again.

Sitting together, sweating in the filtered sunlight after a particularly vigorous session, Celli leaned against Solimar. His green skin was warm, his muscles strong and as comforting as the fronds of the giant trees. "I could get used to this," she said.

He kissed her, wiped a smear of soot from her cheek, then kissed her again. "I could get used to this, this," he said, and she giggled.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright, startling her. "Beneto is calling us. All of us. Quick! It's a long way back, and we have to hurry!"

Though her arms and legs ached, she ran with him back to his gliderbike. Half an hour later, when they arrived beneath the fungus-reef city, agitated-looking green priests were gathered in restless clusters, staring toward the sky. Some farther away had found healthy worldtrees and stood connected by telink so they could listen to what Beneto had to say.

In the clearing the wooden golem formed a focal point for the worldforest's energy and thoughts. The scorched remnants of the tallest trees began to twitch and tremble, brushing fronds together like a group of ancient warriors rattling their swords.

Even without a direct telink connection, Celli felt a shudder go down her back. Something was very wrong. Everyone around her looked sharply upward, shading their eyes. Celli could feel an unmistakable fear that echoed like a gunshot across the telink network-not just in the immediate worldforest, but from planet to planet, everywhere a treeling had taken root.

Celli grabbed Solimar's hand. "Is it the hydrogues? Are they coming?" When she felt him trembling with revulsion at an impending threat, Celli grew more frightened than ever. She looked over at Beneto, hoping for answers.

Though her brother's voice was quiet, the wind and the trees carried it far. "Yes. The hydrogues. We knew it would happen."

The green priests touched the scaled trunks of the worldtrees, trying to knit their strength together so they could stand firm.

"But you said help would be here, Beneto," Celli insisted. "You told us you heard a call go out to some ancient allies. If they don't get here soon, they'll have to hold a funeral without us."

The golem who faced her with swirl-grained eyes looked heartachingly like her lost brother. When she was a child, Beneto had been one of her closest friends...but now he seemed beyond Celli's comprehension.

"Yes, they have been traveling since the first hydrogue attack on Corvus Landing, where I died. But they are still too far away. Our allies will not arrive in time."

For an hour, the giant sentient trees rustled and rattled, and the gathered people looked to Beneto's statuesque form, as if he would tell them what to do. He stood frozen, as much a part of the frightened scene as the towering trees.

Yarrod muttered, "At least all the treelings we sent out will be safe."

"We won't be," said a pale-skinned woman.

Celli heard an outcry, and green priests pointed at something in the sky. In the bright sunlight, she saw a flare of light, reflections off curved diamond hulls, the glint of sharp protrusions that held blue lightning.

The hydrogues converged high overhead, one warglobe after another, and descended once more upon the worldforest.

Regrown worldtrees shuddered as icewaves curled out from the attacking spheres. The air itself seemed to turn brittle and shatter. Panicked Therons ran to seek shelter. Some of the green priests stood still, defeated, not knowing what else to do.

Yarrod slowly dropped to his knees. "All of our work. The worldforest is still weak. We cannot withstand this."

Celli grabbed his shoulder. "Come on, Uncle! We have to do something. Some of the trees have recovered. Isn't there any way they can fight back? Like Reynald made them do before!" She looked frantically for Beneto.

Many Therons scrambled away from the dense trees, even though they knew from the earlier attack that there was no safe place to hide.

A warglobe cruised low overhead, and blue lightning crackled out like spiderwebs across the crowns of the trees, causing them to erupt. Sparking fire caught the weakened wood, and the flames began to grow.

The Beneto golem stood in the middle of the Stonehenge-like ring of burned trunks like a priest in a sacred temple. His wooden eyes were closed, and he stood with carved fists clenched at his sides, his face turned to the sky as if listening to a far-off voice. Was he calling for help? Listening for a response? Who, or what, could possibly aid the worldforest?

During the last devastating attack here, the faeros had arrived, but they were uncertain allies. Ultimately, their assistance had caused as much damage as the warglobes had, and Sarein had said that the faeros themselves were losing in the face of the hydrogue onslaught. What else could save them?

The warglobe bombardment increased.

Celli and Solimar ran together to the uncertain shelter of the tall tree that supported the reconstructed fungus-reef city. Her parents were climbing vine ladders to reach the structure, as if going higher might help them. Celli pointed. "Whatever they're doing, I want to join them. I just...I just need to be with them."

Solimar nodded. "I'm coming with you."

Moving with treedancer grace, the two of them scrambled up the side of the worldtree. Overhead, booming explosions cracked like amplified thunder across the sky. Warglobes swept cascades of frigid wind over their former battlefield, laying down electrical destruction.

Celli rushed to the main throne room. Exposed pipes and support girders covered the walls where Roamers had shored up the damaged structure. Clan engineers had improved the city's plumbing and power networks, added conveniences that were far more modern than the Theron settlers were used to-including a new communications system.

Idriss stood in front of the bank of transmitters, baffled. Alexa looked up at her daughter's arrival. "Celli, you should take shelter. Go where it's safe."

The girl put her hands on her narrow hips. "And where would that be, Mother? If I could think of a place, I'd drag you you there!" there!"

"There won't be any shelter unless we can send a transmission to the hydrogues," Idriss said. "Or call for help."

"A transmission?" Celli said in a squawk. "That doesn't sound like a good idea to me."

"What makes you think they'll listen?" Solimar asked. "They mean to destroy the worldforest."

Willfully ignoring the question, Idriss pointed in frustration at the controls. "Is it this one?"

Solimar hurried forward. "If you insist on this, then let me show you." Always mechanically inclined, he had an intuitive grasp of comm systems and other technology.

"You know what the hydrogues are, Father," Celli said. "Do you really expect them to respond?"

Idriss glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked much older than she had ever seen him. "The green priests are already sending messages through telink, but the hydrogues will have slaughtered us before anyone can get here."

Solimar stepped back, and the system hummed. "It's ready to transmit. Prepped for a full spectrum of frequencies."

Idriss took the controls. "This is Father Idriss of the Theron people. We are a peaceful people, who have done nothing to you. Please leave us alone. We are not your enemies."

Celli looked hard at her bearded father. "The hydrogues have always considered the verdani their enemies. Because we we work for the trees, they hate us-all of us. They will not stop until this entire planet is a cinder." work for the trees, they hate us-all of us. They will not stop until this entire planet is a cinder."

"We demand to meet with an ambassador, like you sent to Earth," Idriss stated, sounding ridiculously naive, for he had already seen the hydrogues devastate the forests. His voice was plaintive. "Please do not do this."

The response that came back over the new communications system surprised them all. And it wasn't from the hydrogues. It was a human voice. "Don't worry, we'll protect you." Then a pause. "I hope this works."

Mother Alexa leaned over the transmitter. "Who is this? Please help us, whoever you are."

"Oh, sorry. This is Kotto Okiah. Looks like we arrived not a moment too soon. Those drogues won't know what hit them...uh, if my calculations are correct."

Celli remembered the eccentric Roamer engineer, whose ambitious schemes had helped rebuild the Theron settlements. When the last Roamer workers had fled, knowing the EDF was hunting them down, the clan members had been fully aware that the hydrogues were bound to return to Theroc.

Celli rushed to one of the open windows in the thick fungus-reef wall. Although it seemed impossible that the renegade space gypsies would have any effective weapon against the warglobes, it made more sense than her father's ill-advised attempt at negotiation.

In the sky, she saw a ragtag group of Roamer ships, a dozen battered old vessels, each of a different design. The warglobes seemed to ignore the small craft, probably considering them irrelevant. Without pausing, the clan ships flew in to face the giant spiked spheres. Celli couldn't imagine what they were thinking. The Roamers looked totally doomed.

Chapter 119-IMPERATOR RUSA'H.

The once-bright thism was unraveling all around him. The soul-threads that Rusa'h had seen so clearly and held so tightly now slipped like razor wires through his fingers. How could the corrupt Mage-Imperator be so strong?

The pain of this was greater than sliced skin and imagined blood loss. All the nialia fields had been obliterated, and there would be no more shiing. Although his fortified citadel palace was still crowded with loyal guards, lens kithmen, pleasure mates, attenders, and doctors, the Mage-Imperator's men pushed closer, working their way through the defenses. Rusa'h had never dreamed his brother would be willing to kill.

Two of the septars from his commandeered Solar Navy maniple also remained at Rusa'h's side as military advisers. Even their tactical expertise could not offer him a way to escape, much less achieve victory. The news was desperate.

From the open citadel, Rusa'h watched Thor'h and his battleships go on a rampage, but most of the warliners had slipped away and turned against him. With insidious powers, the Mage-Imperator had seized control of them, disengaging the crews from him him and tangling them in the old perverted web of soul-threads. And more were falling every moment. Jora'h seemed convinced that he would win. and tangling them in the old perverted web of soul-threads. And more were falling every moment. Jora'h seemed convinced that he would win.

During the course of this rebellion, his brother had underestimated him, and now it seemed Rusa'h had made the same mistake. The Mage-Imperator's control of the thism, thism, though twisted, was powerful...too powerful. though twisted, was powerful...too powerful.

How could the false leader control so much, if his understanding was warped, if he had gone completely astray? Why did the Lightsource not give Rusa'h, the true Imperator, a crushing retaliation to prove the validity of his claims?

"The forces of our enemy are strong," one of his pleasure mates said, sidling against him, though her eyes and her body language were edgy and sharp. "Is there no way the Lightsource can aid us?"

From his ornate chrysalis chair, Rusa'h turned to the open sky, so that his retinas burned with Hyrillka's blue-white primary sun. During his sub-thism sleep, he had seen the answers so clearly. He had walked in a realm of absolute purity; he had followed the soul-threads and knew their true pattern. His head injury had liberated him, enlightened him. sleep, he had seen the answers so clearly. He had walked in a realm of absolute purity; he had followed the soul-threads and knew their true pattern. His head injury had liberated him, enlightened him.

Rusa'h clenched his hands on the arms of the chair and stared into the dazzling light, seeking an answer, but he saw no clear paths anymore. He was sure that he had not been deluded. The thism thism threads were fading; he could not understand what the Lightsource wanted him to do now. The sun itself seemed to call him, showing him a way to protect himself. He must flee these slaves of a once-glorious Empire that was now based on lies. threads were fading; he could not understand what the Lightsource wanted him to do now. The sun itself seemed to call him, showing him a way to protect himself. He must flee these slaves of a once-glorious Empire that was now based on lies.

One of his septars stood before him delivering a report. "Our citadel palace is entirely besieged, Imperator. All but Prime Designate Thor'h's lead warliner and two others have been recaptured by the enemy."

The other septar said, "We still have numerous loyal soldiers willing to throw down their lives before they allow the false Mage-Imperator through."

Rusa'h pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, Jora'h has the soldiers and the weapons to break through whenever he chooses-if he is willing to accept casualties." His pleasure mates stood close, caressing him, as he weighed the possibilities. "Will my brother make such a sacrifice?"

"Ildirans do not kill Ildirans," said the first septar. "He will never attack us directly."

Rusa'h narrowed his eyes. He had made that assumption before, and he had been wrong. "No. He will hesitate, but he will do it." Rusa'h nodded. "Jora'h has already broken with many of our traditions. Look at him now at the bottom of the hill. He stands with his sacred feet on the ground like a common servant. Back at the Prism Palace, his own daughter, a noble-born noble-born female, is his personal guard. Since we have justifiably killed Ildirans, my brother will concoct a similar justification to do the same to us." female, is his personal guard. Since we have justifiably killed Ildirans, my brother will concoct a similar justification to do the same to us."

"Either way," said the second septar, "we have lost, lost, Imperator. Hyrillka will fall. We do not have the personnel, the weapons, or the warliners to maintain our hold. We cannot get reinforcements from the other worlds that have joined our rebellion." Imperator. Hyrillka will fall. We do not have the personnel, the weapons, or the warliners to maintain our hold. We cannot get reinforcements from the other worlds that have joined our rebellion."

Rusa'h listened to the military preparations outside, the sounds made by his own defenders and Jora'h's far more numerous Solar Navy troops. Overhead, nearly four hundred warliners cruised and converged. Thor'h had only three ships left to stand against them.

Rusa'h could do nothing to salvage his crusade.

He drew a deep breath. "Let me speak with the Prime Designate. I have final instructions for him."

Thor'h was barely maintaining control over his three warliners, while all of the other vessels continued to wear down the former Prime Designate. The Adar could have destroyed the rampaging rebel ship at any time, but for some reason Zan'nh held back. Jora'h had probably issued orders for them to capture Thor'h alive.

Perhaps Rusa'h would have enough time...

"Prime Designate, I had meant for you to be my successor to the true Lightsource, but we have failed," the Imperator said over the private channel. "You have always been an honorable companion. You aided me even before I received my revelation, and you believed me when I saw the true path. Now, when all looks darkest, remember that I saw the truth. I alone have the correct guidance. We are not blind. I will never stop trying to achieve our holy goals."

On the screen, Thor'h looked deeply troubled. "I still have three ships, Liege. I have no need of superior weaponry if I have superior resolve. What do you require me to do?"

"At this moment, your corrupt father is marching his regiments up the hill toward my citadel palace." The Imperator gave a confident nod. "However, you and your warliners can give me the chance I need."

Thor'h seemed too choked up to bid his uncle farewell. He gruffly acknowledged the orders and signed off.

Rusa'h commanded his fanatically loyal pleasure mates and the two septars: "Prepare to depart. My engineers have arranged a fully fueled escape ship in the rear courtyard. A small group will accompany me in my escape." He stared at the blazing sun again. "We will go directly to the Lightsource."

Chapter 120-MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA'H.

The Solar Navy soldiers tightened their cordon around the citadel palace. Ground troops moved forward, closing all escape routes on the paths that led to the mad Designate's stronghold. Surrounded by guards, the Mage-Imperator led the way to assured victory. While Jora'h struggled to seize their minds and free them from delusion, the rebels opened fire. His soldiers had no choice but to shoot back to defend their leader.

Though most of the rebellious warliners had restored their loyalty to the Mage-Imperator, the lead warliner piloted by Thor'h and his two flanking battleships swung around in a wild, suicidal attack. The three rebel warliners drove forward, firing their remaining weaponry in a blazing staccato.